


Before you thought of spring

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [42]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Alistair (Dragon Age), Awkward Kissing, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Home, Love, Male-Female Friendship, Slow Romance, Spring, Travel, Winter, is where the heart is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-11 05:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: The seasons turn slowly, and they couldn't stay in that little farmstead forever.  Just a few snippets of time as winter turns to spring, and Caitwyn Tabris grows ever braver and bolder.  Spots of romance, friendship, and general good feelings.  (Don't worry, there's angst in the pipeline, for folks who live on Sadness and Pain.  ;) )Note: this series is fully drafted!  Posts every Sunday until the end.





	Before you thought of spring

The world outside the window was like something out of a story. Gently rolling hills covered in a heavy blanket of snow under a bright gray winter sky. The trees on the edge of the farmland stood bare, their branches heavy and creaking under what the blizzard had left behind 

The world inside the window was nearly like a story, too. A story all her own, at odds with the one she’d known her whole life.

“Huz-wha, Cait? Where’d you go?” Alistair’s sleepy mumble drew her attention back to the bed where they slept. He sat up, hair sticking up in the way that made her fingers twitch, and at the sight of her he smiled. That crooked smile. “Still snowed in, are we? Tired of me already, I knew it. Looking for a way out.”

Face scrunched in playful indignation, she shuffled back into the bed and knelt beside him. The fire in the hearth downstairs warmed the entire farmhouse, but this close the warmth of him made that heat a dim, insubstantial thing. It wasn’t for warmth that she wore shirts to bed. Her arms draped across his broad shoulders, she touched her nose to his. Nothing so bold as a kiss in the bed they had only slept in, but something more than cautious cuddling.

“Don’t think I’ll get tired of you.”

“Hm, I might just believe that.”

“Course, you’re better than a fire-brick in cold like this,” she said, teeth flashing white in the grey-dim room. Brows knit as his early morning mind turned the sentence over, and then he flopped down on the bed dramatically, dragging her down with him.

“Only using me for my body heat!” he cried to the cruel and uncaring heavens. “Was a man ever used so?” Her quiet laughter at his overacting was cut short by the singular drawback of packing into a single farm house: several voices answering, “Yes!”

Alistair flung an arm over his eyes and sighed, and Caitwyn pressed her burning face to his chest. “You know,” she said softly, “think I can sneak us breakfast. Would you mind eating up here?”

“No, I think that would be for the best.”

* * *

Caitwyn crouched, her cloak spread out on the snow behind her. Snow broken only by the footsteps of her and her companions. Beside her, Zevran kept an equally low profile. On the vast, rolling plains of the snow-covered bannorn they were mere specks of brown amongst the white.

She breathed in the sharp winter’s air with a heady satisfaction. 

How had she ever stood being in Denerim all her life? The closed in streets, the rearing clapboard houses of the Alienage, the stinking river and harbor. How had she managed to breathe in a city? The answer was that it had been what she’d been used to. Amazing what a person could grow accustomed to. To the habits of hunger and the wariness of a hunted creature.

The deer tracks were stark in the snow, easy to pick out, and she followed on silent feet. Zevran kept an even pace as they crossed the field, a field that had once grown wheat or barley or something that had a stalk. A buck strode out from a thicket. Ten antler points. A sure step. 

Caitwyn slowly sank down, keeping her movements as fluid and unobtrusive as the deer’s. The former assassin was a whisper next to her, a ghost on the wind.

The weak sunlight glinted off the white blanket over the land, but she had been out for long enough that she didn’t squint against the glare. Instead, she nocked an arrow and drew the string back to her cheek. Sighting her shot, she breathed out slowly, slowly, and as the last of the air left her lungs, as the deer bent its head to crop some grass, she let the arrow fly.

No arrow ever flew true, she had learned. Not over distances like this. Arrows bent and wobbled and swam through the air like a fish rather than moving in anything like a straight line.

But they could  _ strike _ true.

The buck reared as the arrow sank into his flesh, his bleat ringing in the empty, gray day. 

“Well shot, my dear Warden,” Zevran said as he peered into the distance. “In the lung, I believe.” Caitwyn offered him a tight smile before dashing across the field after the animal. Blood pooled behind it in large, garish splotches on the snow. It leapt once, twice, and then fell over. It’s large dark eyes stared up at her, wide and wild.

Caitwyn knelt, knife in her hand.

“Sorry,” she whispered, and cut its throat. A gush of blood spilled onto the snow, and that large eye rolled back until only the white showed. The pants of her companions caught up to her in moments. Zevran offered a hand up, and Caitwyn took it. Blood from her hands smeared onto Zevran’s gloves though he hardly deigned to notice. Instead, he pondered the body that lay at their feet.

“It is fortunate, my dear Caitwyn, that you were never made a Crow. I do believe you would have made a fine assassin with how quickly you learn what I can teach you.”

_ We’re thieves not assassins, little shadow _ . Her mother’s injunction rang in her mind, but Caitwyn pushed it away. Being able to take out darkspawn with one shot was not a skill to be scoffed at no matter the method.

“So you’re saying,” she said, drawing the words out slowly. “That if I’d been a Crow, I would’ve been better than you?” She smiled, letting her canines show, but Zevran merely waved away her gloating.

“Ah, better is a matter of perspective. Perhaps at the long range kill, yes, but you have not yet begun to study poisons, nor do you practice nearly enough with a blade.”

“Then since you’re so good with a blade, you can dress the deer,” she said, tossing him her knife. He caught it easily and offered her a salute. Maybe she should practice more with a blade. But later. For now, they had a deer to get back to the farmhouse for dinner.

* * *

Caitwyn scrunched up her nose and had to make herself swallow the stew that was already in her mouth. It was that or spit it back out in sheer disgust. Just because she had been raised a thief, pickpocket and con artist didn't mean she lacked _ manners _ .

The worst part was, no one else seemed that disturbed. Conversation went on as per normal, and everyone—everyone who ate and was willing to eat with other people that is—dispersed to their own corner of the abandoned farmhouse. In the former master’s room, Caitwyn shuffled around on the mattress trying to get comfortable, but it seemed like there was a lump or a divot no matter which way she turned. Beside her, Alistair sighed and rolled over.

"You're worrying about something, what is it?"

"It's nothing, it's stupid. Go to sleep.” But the images wouldn't stop. It was wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong. Even though it was dark in their tent, she could almost sense his eyebrow quirking up in disbelief.

"If you can't sleep, what makes you think I'll be able to?" 

She grumbled at his question, cursing well-meaning, kind-hearted men in general. Turning over to face him, she looked him dead in the eye, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation.

"That story Oghren told, the one over dinner tonight."

"Yeeeeees, what about it? It was crude, but that's pretty standard for him," Alistair said, entirely too reasonably.

"Oghren has had sex," she said bluntly, the horror of it sinking in to her mind anew.

"That's what's got you upset? That fact? Lots of people have. Though not us yet, not that I'm saying we have to..."

Grabbing his face between her hands, she overrode his verbal stream of consciousness. "Alistair, I  _ can't stop picturing it _ . It's hideous."

He blinked, looking at her for a long moment, and then groaned in disgust. He rolled away from her, rubbing the heels of palms in to his eyes.

"Great, great now I'm picturing it, too. Ugh, that's awful, why would you do that to me?" 

"Sorry? Though I feel kind of better now." She pressed her lips to his cheek and snuggled under his arm. Grumbling, he held her close and kissed the top of her head.

"Glad one of us does," he muttered, and finally, she got to sleep.

* * *

Damp air filled her lungs. The bitter bite of winter had begun to retreat early this year, but it would be another span or so before the roads were remotely clear. In that time she could train a bit more, stock up on provisions, and for a little while longer pretend she had something like a home again.

“Your attention has wandered, kadan,” Sten intoned. She cracked one eye open to glance up at his impassive face. Scrubbing her face, she stood up from the rush-covered floor of the small hut they used to practice qunari exercises—breathing exercises, slow movement exercises, stretching exercises. All manner of them. And he’d wanted to do them outside. In the snow and wind and biting cold. 

One teeth chattering hour, and glares from everyone, had convinced him otherwise. 

“We’re going to be on the move again soon. Lots to think about, to be ready for.”

He hummed, a stony rumble in his chest, but did not move.

“You will either face what comes next and triumph or not. There comes a time in every warrior’s life where training has done all it can; only experience can hone you further.”

Head cocked, she regarded him for a long moment. He returned her gaze without any indication of what he was thinking. A more difficult person to read she’d never met. Even Shale had discernible expressions. “My mother told me the same thing, once.”

“A wise woman, indeed, then. Come,” he said, standing and flinging open the wooden door. “If you are preoccupied, it would be best to eliminate its source.” He had to bend almost double to walk through the doorway, and Caitwyn followed him out, the lintel just brushing her head.

She wondered how Sten would take it if she said her main concern was how it would feel to leave this place behind.

* * *

The ground squelched underneath her boots, and Caitwyn was glad that the snow had melted. Once more the roads were open and travelling was possible. If they made good time to the Brecilian Forest, they would be that much closer to finding the dalish. The last Warden treaty sat in her pack, sealed and warded, still intact after so many years. 

All she had to preserve  _ her _ keepsake was a book and some errant sheafs of paper she’d found to press the rose flat.

A whole winter of training and reading and learning. It had been the most peaceful existence she’d known since she was thirteen. Maybe in her whole life, but it was over now. She was a Warden on the road again, Maethor at her side, his ears and nose alert for danger. But he wasn’t the only warning system they had. Breathing out slowly, she edged out behind her mental walls and waited for the tell-tale oil-slick worm-crawl of the darkspawn.

There was nothing, just the summer sun brightness of Alistair at her back. 

He’d been brighter and warmer than ever; training of his own no doubt.

Then Maethor’s head jerked up, and Caitwyn sank low to the ground, knocking an arrow and scanning the rolling hills of the bannorn. The Mabari’s nose twitched before he broke into a full body wiggle and loped to where Morrigan was quickly catching them up. Picking at her bowstring, Caitwyn returned the arrow to its quiver, and trotted to meet her friend.

“Not like you to join me while scouting,” she said by way of greeting. One black brow raised and yellow eyes rolled to the sky. The clouds were high and white and puffy, but to the west dark, lower clouds gathered on the horizon. They’d need a suitable camp soon.

“I found the casual talking while walking more tedious than usual. Perhaps the respite from such chatter that winter afforded has dulled my ability to tolerate such banality.”

“So, even you liked holing up for the winter?”

“I admit, it was a necessity. Winter travel in the Wilds was often difficult, and I knew that place well. Though it did not grow so cold in the swamp, even if we were further south than we are at present.” 

That was all Morrigan cared to say on the subject, and Caitwyn had little need to speak either. From time to time she made another marker to point the others in the way she had gone, not wanting to rely on only Alistair’s sense of her location as a guide.

The clouds on the horizon grew closer.

“It was nice,” Caitwyn said as she scouted a campsite. It was a good spot, where the ground sloped away on all sides and a small thicket provided some windbreak if not a substantial one. “To be in one place again for a little while.”

Morrigan’s lips pursed, but her expression remained distant. “The Wilds were my home, with Flemeth. I was in one place for far too long.”

Caitwyn set down her pack and checked the draw of her bow. The others would be along soon, and it would be good to get some firewood before they arrived. Maybe a bit of meat for supper, too. 

“Never thought I’d leave the Alienage. Always thought that would be my home.”

“And now, now that you have seen the world, would you ever go back?” Morrigan’s yellow eyes gleamed, something else behind the question. Caitwyn pondered the east. East and a bit north now, where Denerim lowered over the landscape like a foul boil. No matter that her family was there, that they were in danger and she would do anything to get back and save them. The sooner the better.

And yet. She shook her head. “No, that’s not my home anymore, but it’ll always be where I’m from.”

* * *

“Alistair, are you awake?” Caitwyn whispered in the dark of their tent as rain pattered at the canvas. She nudged his shoulder with her nose. He shifted, mumbling something incoherent, and then snorted.

“Hm, I am now.” Turning over, he draped an arm over her waist. Lips stretching in a grin, she scooted closer under the blankets, twisting the thin linen shirt she wore around her stomach. Alistair hummed pleasantly as she cuddled up against his warm, bare chest, holding her close with a hand to the small of her back.

“I’ve been thinking about something. About our rules, I suppose, for the tent.”

“Oh? What about the rules?”

“I was thinking we could relax one of them, the one about kissing in the tent.” She spoke quickly, tucking her chin to her chest and trying to tamp down the instinct to make herself smaller, to hide. She didn’t need to hide here, she didn’t need hide from him. He knew it all already, all the important jagged pieces that made her up.

“And you’re thinking we should. Oh, I see. Right. Kissing in the tent only on Tuesdays between noon and sundown,” he teased. She knew what he was doing. It still worked. Throwing her shoulders, he let his arm fall away as she propped herself up to glare down at him even as he smiled up at her, the features of his face just visible in the moonlight that came through the canvas.

“No, and you know it. I was thinking that I’d like to kiss you right then, so we should change the rules. But we both have to agree.” She tried to keep her voice firm, but heat rose in her cheeks. He tilted his head, as if she had said something unexpected.

“Cait, I meant what I said. What you say goes.” Taking her free hand in his own, his thumb traced the backs of her knuckles. “But, for what it’s worth, I agree.”

“Oh. Good. Good, then,” she said lamely, feeling like it had all become much more of a production than necessary, throwing everything out of order. Biting her lip, she hesitated, her fingers curling around his hand, but when she made no further move, he sat up slowly. Not crowding her, always giving her enough time to react. One hand still holding hers, he cupped her cheek with the other, and she fell towards him.

Their lips met, warm and soft, and her eyes fluttered closed. His mouth opened under hers, an invitation, but no expectation, she knew. Another leap, another dare; she took it, deepening the kiss, tongue darting, teasing, and he responded in kind. He let her hand go to take her face in both hands, and she could feel the tension in him, the heat, the desire, as he held her face to keep him from going where she could not, not just yet. Want, yearning built in her as well, and she knew it was dangerous, changing the rules like this, but she had taken the risk, and she felt no urge to go backwards. Not now, not when she touched his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Then they broke apart as the kiss threatened to turn into something more, and Caitwyn shivered, in part because of the chill in the air and in part because she hadn’t wanted to stop.

“Are you, are you alright?” he asked, getting his breath back, holding her forehead to his, keeping their contact light, gentle, and she wrapped her hands around his wrists, nodding.

“I’m alright,” she replied, and she was. She really was alright. Not just saying the words, not just making herself think the words. No panic, no fear, just wanting him, that simple.

“Good, good.” His voice was abstracted, and she could easily guess why. Thinking was rather difficult at the moment, and she wondered if she was hurting him, somehow.

“What about you, are you alright?” she asked, unable to get a good look at his face in the dim tent, but he chuckled, low and unconcerned.

“I am, you just might want to, um, give me a minute?” His voice rose in pitch, not quite a question, and she understood. Delicately, she curled her fingers around his hands, taking them away from her face, and she rose up, ever so slightly, to place a kiss on his brow. He leaned into her lips, a sigh easing from him.

“I love you,” she told him, as he lay down on his back.

“I love you,” he said. She curled up under his arm, careful not to disturb things best left alone for the moment. “Cait can I ask? What brought that on?”

“Your hair was sticking up in a really cute way,” she told him absently, lightly stroking the fluff on his chest. “I guess it made me want to kiss you.”

“… All because of my messy hair? I am never going to understand women,” he complained, and rolled over, dragging her arm over him. Giggling, she curled around him, nuzzling her face against his back and drifted to sleep knowing she was home.

* * *

Caitwyn wiggled her toes in the soft, spring green grass, delighting in the fact that she didn’t have to put on her boots just yet. As a girl on the streets of Denerim, she’d run barefoot but there broken glass and jagged cobblestones and muddy streets had combined with all the effluence of a city and meant she’d always had to watch her step. But here, in the Brecilian Forest, she traipsed lightly across the ground and stood at the base of a massive tree just outside where they had set up camp. It was even bigger than the Vhenadahl that stood in the center of the Alienage. She ran one slim-fingered hand over the rough bark, craning her neck as she considered the branching, reaching giant before her.

Her deep green eyes danced with anticipation of the challenge. Drawing in a deep breath, she worked her shoulders, and then started to climb. Hand over hand, her fingers finding the smallest hand holds, she clambered up the trunk and made it to the first branch, a sturdy thing that stuck straight out. Standing on the branch, she took a moment, enjoying the feel of the bark under her feet, and then kept going. Higher and higher, she climbed up and up, the breeze teasing, picking, plucking at her short, dark curls.

Then she broke through the canopy. She braced herself on the thin branches as they swayed in the wind. Face lifted to the dawn-stained sky, warm light of the spring sun kissed her dark skin and for one brief moment made all that she had seen and done fade away. In that brief moment, her mind was full of a sight she thought she would never see, a sight denied to a girl who was more used to rickety, clapboard buildings huddled under imposing turrets and towers, everything stained a filthy brown by smoke every winter. But now her eyes drank in the sight before her, a sight stretching out as far as the eye could see. Trees, beautiful green trees, pines, firs, oaks, and elms, the tops rising and falling with the curve of the land, swaying like dancers in the breeze.

Slowly, with the rising sun, a smile blossomed on her face, knowing she would hold this sight in her mind’s eye forever.


End file.
